Chapter 469
Chapter 469
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 469
Chapter Title: Another Solo Play (28)
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****
Clang!
Sparks erupted, illuminating the foggy twilight.
The difference in power shattered the defender's balance, and a forward charge as solid as a fortress wall exploited the gap.
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[I can't believe you've mastered the Empire's Sword, Hyde.]
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Slash, strike, swing. The Empire's Sword rarely used thrusts, instead relying on the greatsword's broad surfaces to shove opponents aside.
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[Huff, huff. Why not?]
[The Empire's swordsmen don't fling themselves around like that. Didn't they teach you to move like a walking fortress wall?]
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Kwaaaang!
Attacks that ignored both sword and body, targeting only the enemy's center of gravity, multiplied in power when paired with sheer brute strength.
*It's coming.*
When the opponent staggered, unable to control their own body, the follow-up— the most honest and straightforward sword strike— crushed them if blocked, or left them endlessly pressured if dodged.
*Now...!*
The weakness lay just before that stubbornly simple blow.
He forcibly twisted his already heavily weighted left foot forward.
Crunch!
An ominous sound came from his ankle, but somehow his body lurched ahead.
The undead hero's spear blade, trailing violet fireballs, shot toward him from both sides.
The spear caught on the magitech relic 'Party Frame' protruding from his side and veered off, while the curse-laced flames were sucked into the Ottoman gem glowing brightly in his pocket.
The glancing spear tip deeply gashed his calf, and unabsorbed flames scorched his nape, sizzling his flesh.
But the reckless charge, ignoring all defense, plunged straight into the face of Gaynax, who had raised his sword high.
*Yeah. That spar back then was just like this.*
Kaaang!
Block the unstoppable strike before it fully formed with a reckless charge.
Then, pay the price for hastily blocking the enemy's finisher— disrupted balance under a barrage of blows.
"Reminds me of the old days...!"
Blocked attack, shattered balance. What followed was merciless hammering aimed at his restricted mobility.
In that past spar, he'd ended up miserably pummeled like this.
Gaynax had refused further spars after that, calling it an insult to the Empire's swordsmanship.
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[I learned it... thoroughly!]
[Where in that swordsmanship?]
[The essence of Empire swordsmanship is the impregnable fortress of the whole body!]
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But Gaynax— there was one thing even our emperor didn't know.
"That was just a spar...!"
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[So, instead of the fortress creeping forward slowly, just flop the whole thing right on top of the enemy, right?]
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Kwaang!
No deflection— swing back with his own sword.
Boom! Kwaang! Boom boom boom boom!
If the Empire's swordsmanship preserved one's center while breaking the enemy's,
He swung his own center along with it, smashing the foe.
Even if his twisted ankle wrenched, his gashed calf burst, his spine, organs, and sword-grip hand—all connected— shattered and twisted.
The most efficient way to consume his body: charging at the enemy.
"You can't show that in a spar."
Creeeeang-!
The sound of breaking blades signaled the end of the endless barrage.
Shoulder half-severed.
Calf with muscle exposed.
Ankle too wrecked to walk properly.
Back stabbing with sword-like pain, nape skinned from burns.
In exchange: Gaynax's breastplate slightly sliced, gauntlet dented.
A faint scar diagonally across his face, hair disheveled.
Undeniably, victor and vanquished divided.
Cough! Cough!
"Yeah... Against someone stronger, it's suicidal swordsmanship..."
The victor approached to sever the loser's neck. Steps neither hasty nor hesitant.
Three.
Two.
One.
"...So it needs delicate, calculated use."
Drip.
I pocketed the remaining bombs and smiled faintly.
-Click!
With no strength left to block, the unstoppable strike— cleaving the heavens— descended upon him.
What flashed was not quite a life-flashing-before-his-eyes montage.
From the moment he faced the Imperial Palace, images etched in his mind like photographs, relentlessly replaying.
*The Imperial Palace had long withered under the curse flower, stones cracking and splitting.*
*Countless land maggots riddling the ground with holes.*
*The immense shock from Gaynax and him, auras clashing in a barrage— enough to snap the insanely durable Fragment Sword that held pseudo-mana aura.*
Gaynax stomped hard to swing his sword.
*The curse was researched beneath the Imperial Palace.*
*Deep, deep underground.*
Kuuung-!
Suddenly, unlike the sharp blasts before, a dull, heavy explosion rumbled.
Crack!
The floor beneath the sword-wielding victor—the Imperial Palace floor— crumbled.
The off-balance sword glanced off the loser's body.
The victor's body plummeted helplessly with the collapsing floor, while the foreknowing loser hurled himself downward with his broken sword toward the abyss-like depths.
*Collapse the Imperial Palace.*
The plan that hit him the instant he arrived here.
At its end, in the endlessly crumbling darkness, the broken sword ignited white flames,
Slash!
And a cold head fell.
Victor and vanquished swapped.
"In a real fight, not a spar... I win."
The tumbling head seemed to nod in agreement.
Boom! Kuung— Boom! Kwaang!
The Imperial Palace underground. The spiral stairs leading to the most secret depths collapsed endlessly amid falling debris.
'Sword.'
His dizzy, anemic head forced his body to move.
Sword.
Lionel.
How far down did this underground go?
Flickering aura illuminated the falling Empire's Sword.
Grab it.
Must grab it.
The last...
Key...
....Sssslurp.
Then, his taut, about-to-snap mind snapped loose.
Darkness fell.
Thud!
Kuuung-!
Rocks poured endlessly into the collapsing Imperial Palace underground.
****
....Thud.
Kuuung—
Something endlessly collapsing.
The floor's vibrations shook his bones, making his whole body feel the fall.
*Dark.*
A familiar, unbelievably cozy darkness. Comfortable enough to sleep in forever.
What roused him from that sweet embrace was a bone-chilling cold stinging his skin.
Chilling cold. A word fitting for corpses.
Crack!
*Not... dead.*
Not death's chill, but actual frost from blood freezing on his body.
Only now he noticed: in the dark, the blue gem in his bosom faintly pulsed.
*Ottoman's... gem?*
The gem blinking as if proud of its feat.
Faint wind mana lingering around.
Chilling enough to freeze blood....
*Before the capital. That cave when we arrived at the Empire... the wind mage?*
The wind mage hiding in the cave with the merciful priest treating curse plague victims.
He'd attacked on first sight, and Ottoman's gem absorbed what seemed high-tier magic.
*Water magic's [Embrace]?*
Right before the fall, the gem's stored cold storm must've released, cushioning the impact. He'd lost too much blood to know if he triggered it or it happened automatically.
"Huff, heuk, huff..."
Frozen wounds didn't return spilled blood.
Vision blurry, head aching, body temperature dangerously low.
His shaking vision revealed he was dozing off without realizing.
*Sleep means death.*
He focused on pain. The full-body agony—like crushed in a pestle— steadied his wavering mind.
....Not full-body.
Precisely, immense pain poured only from above his navel.
"...No way. That can't be..."
Breaths gasping from pain turned to gasps of horror.
Hand. Fingers freely bent, but sensation remained.
Arm. Joints stiff, couldn't fully extend, but could reach forward.
With those pathetic arms, he crawled toward the light seeping in.
Screee— clack! Screee— crack!
"Huff, huuk—"
Squeezing through crumbled rocks, he arrived in a space blending mage tower and temple. Likely the Imperial Palace underground where the curse was sealed and studied.
Built so sturdy, facilities held form even as the passage collapsed.
At its center bloomed a luscious flower emitting eerie light.
"Curse, huff, cursed... flower..."
Probably the curse's heart overrunning the capital.
After the caster emperor died, it channeled fearsome power to the Twelve Legends; over three years, it drained and stored the capital's everything.
Despite the pitiful end of all above—including the caster emperor— the curse flower flaunted vibrant beauty with absorbed life force, glowing.
Its ominous light illuminated him.
Revealed: legs frozen with blood clots.
*...Still attached. Still... attached...!*
Clinging to faint hope they retained old form, he tried moving them,
Crack!
But the dragged shock snapped the frozen legs from the knees.
No feeling in the fallen frozen blood-clotted legs.
Nor in the motionless thighs atop them.
Nor in his collapsed hips.
No sensation below the waist.
His left hand gripped Lionel, crushed to bits, but his right felt nothing.
Thud thud thud thud thud—!
Dazedly staring at the vanished legs and Empire's Sword, earth-gnawing tremors approached.
Crunch!
A mouth full of grotesque teeth burst through debris, vomiting out familiar passengers.
"...Hyde."
"Yeah. Kauld and... that one followed all the way here?"
"Ha, Hydde—!"
Whoosh!
Nigmi, trailed by Kauld and his guards, charged tearfully. Why was she so clingy? Like in the canyon.
Clack, crackle.
As Nigmi fussed to fit his shattered legs on his knee, Kauld returned after scouting, confirming no threats.
"Your emperor was retrieved by another land maggot. Moved where you want if needed."
"...Aigoo, no need to go that... far."
Cough! Cough!
"...We shared shoulders in battle, so I can extend such courtesy. Any land in this continent you wish specially buried?"
"Asking the living to pick a grave. Truly kingly wor— cough! Keuk!"
Breathing hard— each cough spewed blood. Chest heavy as stone from blood-filled lungs.
"If not for the legs..."
"Spine's crushed too. You're dying."
"Yeah. Miscalculated a bit."
"That in your hand— the Empire's Sword you so desired?"
"Yeah. Wrong math, right answer."
He'd gotten it. Faced the monster-Professor, seized the key to face him.
Shiver, shiver shiver—
He barely raised gripped Lionel. Blurry vision, but Kauld seemed to support below with his tail.
"...Know what this is?"
"Empire's Sword. Imperial Sword. Or Heaven-Opening Sword— the imperial family's treasure."
"Right. Since the Empire's founding... every being in the Empire, from elders to babes, knows this marvel...."
A symbol.
Symbol of the founding emperor's legend: turning certain defeat into victory, naming the empire Valtn.
Even with emperors dying and new ones ascending, the Imperial Sword unchangingly symbolized the absolute ruler.
Symbol worshipped by billions over 750 years: benevolent god, victory, impossible triumph.
Belief made it so, solidifying the divine relic.
"Sword symbolizing... human victory..."
"Yes. So even as Queen Nigmi desires the Empire, she didn't stop you claiming it. A treasure forged by 'human' faith. Useless to us."
"...Almost there. Nearly done. This, to that guy...!"
Clunk.
Kauld quietly halted his thrashing stiffened body.
"You've done enough."
"..."
"What you hold proves you beat an opponent even I can't guarantee victory over. It earns my respect."
"So, my advice: don't fill a knight's honorable end with regrets."
The beast's glowing eyes in the dark held sincerity, draining strength from his flailing limbs.
"Still work to do."
"...Everyone has work. My countless battlefield brothers, our kind— all had duties. They lived for Queen Nigmi, protected her, fulfilled in death. We survivors carry their duties now."
"Pass on the duty...?"
"If there's someone, I'll pass your sword to them. Any last words, I'll relay."
Pass on the duty.
Even resurrected from death here, he'd be a newborn babe. No way to reach the Professor.
....Pass on the duty. To someone.
In his fading mind, he imagined: someone wielding hard-won Lionel, facing the system-toyed Professor, fulfilling his duty.
....Grind!
Unpleasant.
"No."
Regardless of possibility, it was unacceptable.
"It's mine."
Rage boiled his blood, reason and target unknown.
He'd come this far, discarding everything.
Even lives he couldn't recall.
Bonds with life, past bonds.
All discarded.
Grrrrrind!
Crack! Crack crack!
"That's... mine!"
Truth: as he'd said since old days, he wanted to learn magic.
Ottoman warmed the heart just being near. Stick years learning magic properly, or even just a seaside trip.
Damn duty, wretched longing— hateful at times. Alone going mad on the island; meeting good folk, yearning normal family, peaceful end.
Not chasing world's disasters.
Discarded all that. For one miracle moment— everything! All! To come here!
"That's... not passing to anyone...!"
Crack! Crack crack! Crack!
Each arm stretch, shoulder move— something snapped inside.
Clinging, crying Nigmi. Watching, conflicted Kauld. He shook them off, crawled forward.
Head like fireball. How many minutes left to think?
'Altar.'
'Curse source, first curse flower.'
'Nigmi.'
'Imperial Palace.'
Blurry eyes gulped info, forced it together.
'Discard, advance.'
He laid his broken body on the altar before the curse flower.
"...Aldrich."
Calling the name, he was already there.
"Hyde."
"Cough, ugh.... Knew you'd be here. Said you had business left in the Palace."
"That's my job, right?"
"...Among souls I've handled, the death I've seen most... is yours."
What? As near-demiurge soul shepherd, foresaw his death? Or knew he'd act thus.
Whatever— he was needed, here, now.
Tongue stiff, he eyed: curse flower, Nigmi, Aldrich.
"Hyde."
"Help me."
"Didn't you see the emperor's end? The curse, this twisted power our house made— grants no wishes. You'll be buried eternally in this dark underground."
"Can't... stop, guk! Here...."
"You can stop. I'll... take you with me. You deserve rest."
Tears welled in Aldrich's crumbling face.
"Others remain... even without me?"
"Doesn't matter who's left."
"You fool...."
Aldrich sadly bowed his head. Raising a finger, Nigmi and Kauld from steps away approached the altar.
Aldrich's ghostly body passed through them.
"Ni...gmi."
"Hic, heeng, don't die...."
Why this clinginess?
Answer simple.
"If you die, I'll... really, hic, heng! Be, all alone...."
He was her last direct kin.
Mutants from 3rd World Mutant Queen gone; new generation from Valkatus and Edeorna legacies.
Only he and Nigmi shared old blood.
His roots: mutant factors from mutant burrowing into Professor's body.
Faint, but Nigmi instinctively felt it.
"Then... help?"
"Sniff! Yes...."
What remained of him: use it.
'Curse completes via incantation, catalyst, target.'
Incantation: near-demiurge soul sorcerer Aldrich.
Catalyst: overflowing first curse flower, symbolic 'sole' mutant queen Nigmi.
Target: him.
Scriiitch—
Sharp nail drew blood from Nigmi's palm.
Clasp hands. Queen's blood highlighted his mutant blood ties.
Aldrich somberly reached for the curse flower.
"...Won't get what you want."
*'I know.'*
"You... can't return."
*'I know.'*
Mouth frozen, but Aldrich understood.
Curse flower's baleful light filled the underground as his blood soaked the altar, drawing complex magic circles.
"Your siblings' lives... why so tormented...."
Aldrich finished the incantation.
[In the end, shatter at the finish.]
[Reach the end, and shatter.]
[Wish]
Fwoooosh!
His remaining body shed like ash, sequentially vanishing.
Curse flower's tendrils burrowed like grotesquely vital worms.
Aldrich's sad-not-sad face seeped away.
*'Discard, advance.'*
When ego first awoke in Professor's body, he craved humanity.
Freely eat, drink, move, breathe like him.
*'Lived enough.'*
*'Busy, but 200 years plenty.'*
His humanity faded; faint origin greedily absorbed power, growing.
Recall desire.
Vast, mighty flesh.
Tenacity regenerating from any cut or smash.
Strength pulverizing all blockers.
Clearest memory: shining red monster.
*'Want to go back.'*
Discarded human flesh shed final tear.
He'd reach the end. With that power.
But not return.
His soul's form now differed from that empty seat.
****
That day, deep in the Imperial Palace underground, a past monster reborn roared its birth cry.
Indistinct praise, roar, or anguished wail poured long from it, clutching
the sword symbolizing human victory.
All his preparations complete.
Only after discarding everything.
****